He wasn’t there.
The disappointment was a weight in the center of her chest. Nor were there empty chairs at the dinner table which made her immediately worry if he intended to come at all.
Had he changed his mind?
Over dinner, Seph ran through their last meeting. There’d been nothing to indicate he was already tired of her, in fact the opposite. Nothing she could remember indicated he would not be coming. Didn’t even liaisons require clear communication when it was over?
Impatience and uncertainty warred with a growing sense of annoyance. Wasn’t he supposed to be here first if he’d pushed her to attend? This was the first time she arrived at an event before him, that his warm, seductive gaze was not there to greet her; she felt oddly unanchored, set loose and somehow adrift. And she didn’t like it. That fact annoyed her even more than him not being there.
Not a few weeks ago she was more than happy to head to any number of social events on her own. It was true, Marsden often went with her, but she was comfortable in her widowhood. Comfortable with her friends. Now it was bleak without him. Her delectable wolf.
“You’re scowling, it upsets hostesses to have guests scowl on arrival.” Marsden handed her a small glass of port he’d absconded with from the men’s enclave.
“Shouldn’t you be smoking cigars and drinking your port in the library?”
“No need to growl at me. I came to keep you company.”
Seph looked bored. “So, which one is it? Lady Elizabeth with her doe eyes? Or is it Lady Jane Spencer whose breasts are making us all on edge wondering when they will fall out of her dress?”
Marsden chuckled. “You really are out of sorts. And neither. Never you mind who I have in mind. What fun would a house party be if we all knew what the rest were doing?”
The men returned a half hour later and a game of charades began after which a light supper of cold meats was served. Then the baccarat table was set up. After winning more than a few hands, Seph excused herself with promises they would have the chance to win back what they lost from her tomorrow.
The next morning, the half-opened curtain in her room showed a clear but grey day. The sheets were all twisted around her and one of the comforters had fallen to the floor. A soft knock at the door.
“Tea m’lady.” A maid brought a small tray of tea, a slice of toast and marmalade. “I’ll just get the fire started,” a second maid said. Seph got out of bed, slipped on a dressing gown, and collected her notebook and pen from a small leather satchel. The maid set down the tray on the side table next to where she’d slept and fluffed up the pillows on the bed. The fire took off in the grate and the two left Seph sitting up in bed munching on her toast as the room started to warm up.
She’d had a restless night. With every creak and groan of the house she imagined her door opening and Ilya slipping in. Imagined all the hot delectable kisses she would get, the exploration of those crafty fingers as he murmured all kinds of Russian nonsense in her ear which she didn’t understand but made her bones melt.
Over the days after the Winter Ball, Ilya arranged the most delicious trysts and seductions. Skating in Hyde Park after which they slipped into one of the closed boat sheds. They’d filled one of the row boats with cushions and blankets making a soft warm nest where he showed her how slow restrained touches could be the most torturous of seductions.
The Russian Club was an alluring slice of his culture where he’d danced with the other men, showed her how to throw back vodka and then how to straddle and ride him in the carriage on the drive home.
The Duke of Bedford’s dinner was full of hidden touches and suggestive murmurs, along with the request ‘Come to the house party in Bath with me.’ How could she say no? But she’d pretended to be unsure and found herself at the end of the night falling apart on his fingers in a hidden nook at Madam Debuverey’s salon panting ‘yes, yes, yes.’
And as promised, although they had ended up in the papers…the prince and the elusive widow…, he played it so carefully it could all simply be a well-crafted flirtation as far as the observers knew.
Two hours later a maid returned to help her dress.
At breakfast, the flirtations amongst the group had already started. She knew everyone to varying degrees from the salon sets. Could guess who would be tiptoeing into whose room, who would be competing for whom after the first week as people sought a change. It was the pattern played over months in the salons happening in days at the house party. People dealing with the fact that they were bored, disenchanted, hopeful, or foolish.
‘Racy’ house parties seemed to flow by their own rules, what happened at the house party stayed at the house party. A chance for people to let their social guard down and simply enjoy whatever dalliance they had on the go. A new world for her, these freedoms, and enlightening to see the people who comfortably partook of it.
It was at morning tea time that two motorcars drove up the drive honking their horns and her mood went from flat to excited. Seph stood at the large windows overlooking the drive like everyone else.
Ilya and Demetri both drove sporting cars, Demetri’s in hunter green and Ilya’s in burgundy. They looked so modern as they did a circuit of the forecourt after coming out of the long tree lined drive. Ilya did an extra circuit waving at them while they stood at the large bay window, before parking next to Demetri.
They stepped out of their respective vehicle in full length coats made for winters harsher than this, fur hats on their heads and leather gloves on their hands. Two men that took a woman’s breath away. Everyone in the room was now almost pressed against the glass to see them. The men in the group who had not joined the day’s hunt, were clearly eager for an opportunity to try the vehicles during their stay.
Seraphina stepped back from the window and those gathered there, straightened her attire, a black and white striped skirt, lace shirt, and pearl choker with a cameo. She walked over to a mirror and tidied her hair.
A balm had washed through her at the simple sight of him.
Ilya. How had he managed to become bone deep? As vital to her as the air she breathed. She was reading Byron with new eyes. Her own work taking a deeper richer tone of sensuality.
“You look stunning. I am sure the man knows how lucky he is.” Marsden said in a low voice beside her.
Their eyes met in the reflection. He couldn’t fail to see the spark of excitement in her eyes and the flush on her cheeks.
“I have no idea what you mean,” but she grinned hopelessly anyway. Ilya made her feel alive.
Marsden slipped his hand around her arm and waylaid her as she turned to take her seat.
“Just watch your tender heart Seph. Liaisons and trysts are exactly what they say they are…nothing more.”
She scowled at him. It was a timely reminder as her heart tripped in its excitement and her thoughts ran down avenues that were improbable and not likely. A shared life, children, Ilya…that would not be. He was her taste of passion. A slice of living life regardless of any future. Once he left, went back to Russia, it would be over. She would at some point need to decide whether she would marry again. If she could find a husband who did what Ilya did in the bedroom she wouldn’t hesitate. But another like her previous marriage…never.
“You are worried about my tender heart?” Seph raised her eyebrows at him. “I recall you broke my twelve-year-old heart when you kissed Becky Wentworth, but I survived.”